


running on the music and night highs

by thisismydesignn



Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band), Bandom, Video Blogging RPF
Genre: After Party, Anal Sex, M/M, Multi, One Night Stands, Oral Sex, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-05
Updated: 2019-01-05
Packaged: 2019-10-04 16:26:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17307914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thisismydesignn/pseuds/thisismydesignn
Summary: Set the night of the 2018 ARIA Awards. Ashton and Luke invite Troye back to Ashton's hotel room. It's possible they have ulterior motives. It's more than possible Troye doesn't mind.





	running on the music and night highs

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Bupkis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bupkis/gifts).



> So, uh, apparently 5SOS and Troye interacting at the ARIAs ([x](https://twitter.com/dearIord/status/1068036120523431936) \+ [x](https://twitter.com/dearIord/status/1067914396804964352)) was too much for me to handle. I have some regrets, but probably not as many as I should.
> 
> For reference, Luke and Ashton that night: [x](https://pbs.twimg.com/media/DtFN36eU0AAvEJb.jpg) and Troye: [x](https://pbs.twimg.com/media/DtEgdF0V4AAN-zK.jpg)
> 
> All the usual disclaimers: this obviously did not happen, no disrespect meant to the parties involved or their significant others, et cetera. Title from Troye Sivan's "Wild." Apologies for the corny af ending.

Troye hides his smile behind his glass as he watches Ashton root through the minibar, calling across the room to ask Luke what he wants. Luke’s sprawled across the bed, a half-empty bottle of beer dangling precariously from his hand. “I’m good,” he calls back, propping himself up just enough to grin lazily at Troye. Ashton eyes Troye’s mostly-full glass, and Troye echoes Luke before he can ask. Ashton shuts the fridge door with a satisfied nod, cracking open a tiny bottle of vodka that looks even smaller in his hands. Troye looks away. He doesn’t need to be thinking about Ashton’s hands. Even if…

(Even if Jacob had told him to _go_ when Ashton and Luke had asked if he wanted to join them for an after-after-party of sorts in Ashton’s hotel room, pulled him aside to kiss his cheek and murmur, _you can love me and still want this_. Even if Luke had draped an arm across Troye’s shoulders, pulling him closer than strictly necessary as they made their way down the hall to Ash’s room. Even if Ashton had let his gaze linger a moment too long as Troye stripped off his jacket and draped it over a chair—none of it means a thing, he tells himself.)

(Unless, of course, it does.)

Ashton’s eyes are back on Troye as he steps in to tug at the end of his tie, his hand slipping up to loosen the knot. Ironic, Troye thinks, that he’s suddenly finding it harder to breathe. Ash’s shirt is unbuttoned practically to his waist, a lock of hair hanging loose in his eyes, and he’s smiling, that smile that’s made Troye weak in the knees since he was eighteen, watching their music videos through a computer screen. “Stay for a while,” Ashton comments, and Troye is struck by it, finds himself wondering yet again how he ended up here, now, with them. “Unless you’ve got somewhere else to be.”

He’s cheeky about it, eyes gleaming as he steps back, and Troye has to fight the urge to follow, to close the distance between them. He clutches the drink in his hand tighter, willing the cool condensation to quell the flush rising in his cheeks. “Nowhere but here,” he tells Ashton, glancing over his shoulder at Luke as well; Luke raises his beer, tilting it toward Troye with a silent _cheers_. When Troye turns back to Ashton, Ash’s eyes are on Luke, an entire exchange Troye isn’t privy to passing between them in a matter of seconds. Somehow, Troye doesn’t mind.

They talk around it for minutes that feel like hours, Ashton and Troye each sprawled in their own oversized chairs near the bed. Troye’s just finished telling them one of his many absurd tour stories, Luke still wiping tears of laughter from his eyes, when Ashton notices Troye’s empty glass. “You want another?” he asks, and Troye tilts his head, considering. He shouldn’t, probably, but— ”I mean, if you’re offering.”

Ashton gets to his feet and takes Troye’s glass, moving toward the minibar once more. He’s nearly reached it when Luke sits up on the bed. “Ash. Ash!”

“What?”

He lifts his now-empty beer bottle into the air. “Me too?”

Ashton rolls his eyes with a long-suffering fondness. “Yeah, yeah, alright.” Troye reaches over to snag the bottle from Luke’s hand (Luke smiling sweetly up at him as he does so, clearly unwilling to move from his place on the bed, entirely unbothered by the fact that it’s not even his room) and approaches Ashton, setting the empty bottle aside. “Need any help?”

“That’s alright,” Ashton tells him, “But thanks.” He’s smiling as he hands Troye a fresh drink, their fingers brushing, and once again Troye finds himself thinking about those hands on him, some combination of the alcohol and their proximity and the night’s leftover adrenaline conspiring to distract him, to make him realize a moment too late that he’s staring, his mouth gone dry (as he thinks, tries not to think about unbuttoning the rest of Ashton’s shirt, running his hands through Luke’s hair, feeling their stubble on his neck, sinking to his knees)—Ashton’s eyebrows are raised as his hand comes up to cup Troye’s face, surprisingly gentle. “You good?”

His thumb strokes along Troye’s cheekbone and it’s all he can do to nod, to breathe out, “More than.” Ash’s hand falls away and Troye’s chest aches, but Ashton doesn’t step back. His gaze flickers down Troye’s body, back up to his face, and Troye knows he knows, the gleam in his eyes unmistakable.

“I’m sure you’re wondering why we asked you here tonight,” Ashton starts, tone half-teasing, though his gaze is anything but. His drink and Luke's lie forgotten atop the minibar as he rests one broad hand on Troye’s waist—a question, rather than an assumption. “We don’t have to do anything. But if you want…”

His tongue darts out to wet his lips as he nods over Troye’s shoulder. Troye manages to tear his gaze away long enough to turn and see Luke watching them with hooded eyes, glittering gold and electric blue. His lips are parted, and Troye wants nothing more than to slip his tongue between them. “What d’you say, Luke?” Ashton asks, like a continuation of their earlier silent conversation, like no time at all has passed. Troye presses back against him as he waits for Luke’s response, a thrill coursing through him at Ash’s sharp intake of breath. He’s like an anchor at Troye’s back as his other hand settles on his waist, steady, solid. Troye wants Ashton to take him apart, wants Luke to put him back together, wants to be caught between them, their hands all over him, leaving him absolutely fucking overwhelmed.

“Fuck, yes,” Luke murmurs, as though he can see Troye’s thoughts play out across his face, getting to his feet effortlessly like he hasn’t spent the past hour trying to avoid doing precisely that. “Whatever you want,” he tells Troye. “Anything.”

 _Anything_. Troye takes a shuddering breath as Luke steps forward and Ashton ducks his head, his lips brushing across Troye’s neck, the edge of his jaw. Troye tilts his head to the side, offering him easier access, and feels Ashton’s lips curl into a smile, tongue darting out to taste the salt of his skin. Troye’s eyes don’t leave Luke’s as Luke reaches out to finish what Ashton had started earlier—loosening the tie around Troye’s neck just enough to tug it over his head and toss it aside.

Luke leans down, close enough that Troye can feel his breath on his lips; he’s about to close the distance between them when Luke smirks and ducks his head lower, pressing a kiss to the other side of Troye’s neck instead. Troye groans in frustration, reaching back with his free hand to pull Ashton’s hips against his own. Ash’s lips against his skin turn to teeth and he relieves Troye of the drink in his hand, leaving him free to lace his fingers into Luke’s hair. He’s tempted to drag Luke’s lips back up to his own, hungry for a proper kiss, but decides that two (or, rather, three) can play at that game.

He steps forward instead, his legs tangling with Luke’s, with Ashton’s as he walks them toward the bed, distracted by Luke’s teeth against his Adam’s apple, Ashton biting at his ear—not enough to leave marks, but not quite as gently as before. Troye can feel every touch of Luke’s tongue, Ashton’s lips, between his legs, _want_ curling deep in his gut as he unwinds his hand from Luke’s hair, places it on his chest and pushes him back on the bed.

Luke looks up at him with shining eyes, surprised, though he recovers quickly as Troye steps between his legs, splayed apart like an invitation. Ashton’s murmuring in Troye’s ear, voice too low for Luke to hear most of it, though he would swear he hears the words _fucking gorgeous_ as Troye bites his lip and leans in to run a hand up the inseam of Luke’s painted-on trousers. Luke spreads his legs wider and Troye grins, stopping just short of the bulge that betrays his arousal. It’s Luke’s turn to whine in frustration as Troye’s hand slips away and Ashton laughs, delighted at his teasing.

Troye turns in the circle of his arms, crushing his mouth to Ashton’s with every bit of desperation he’d been just barely holding back. His fingers undo the remaining buttons of Ashton’s shirt as Ash’s tongue slips between his teeth, hands sliding down bare skin to loosen his belt and tease along the zip of his trousers, kissing until neither of them can breathe.

Ashton’s teeth catch at Troye’s bottom lip as he pulls back, looking satisfied at the moan it draws from him. His eyes are practically glittering as he catches sight of Luke: “Looks like someone’s enjoying the show.”

Troye turns to see Luke press a palm between his own legs, fingers curved against his cock through the confines of his pants. “That was fucking hot,” he tells them, color rising in his cheeks. Troye’s face is burning, too, but he can’t get on top of Luke fast enough, stealing the kiss he had teased him with minutes before. Troye can feel the length of Luke’s cock against his as their hips align; Luke swallows his moan with one of his own, reaching out almost unconsciously for Ashton.

Ash is at the end of the bed when Troye sits up on his knees. He lets himself just _look_ for a long moment before reaching out to stroke across the taut skin of Ashton’s stomach, his thumbs dipping into the V of his waist. Luke is at Troye’s back, reaching around to unbutton his shirt; he sits back when he’s done, silver-nailed fingers pushing up beneath the loose fabric, watching as Troye leans in to press a kiss to Ashton’s skin. His lips trace the same path as his hands moments before, down to the trail of hair that leads below the waist of Ashton’s pants. He looks up at Ashton through his eyelashes, knowing precisely what he looks like like this, and is rewarded as Ash inhales unsteadily and laces a hand into Troye’s curls—not directing him where to go, just holding him in place, anchoring him once more. Troye licks his lips and reaches again for Ashton’s zipper, dragging his pants to mid-thigh and pressing his mouth to the head of Ashton’s cock through his straining boxer briefs.

Ashton’s hand tightens in his hair and Troye lets himself think it, this time: those fingers circling his wrists, pinning him to the bed, sliding into him, filling him up. His mouth waters as his tongue traces the length of Ashton’s cock through the fabric, and not for the first time tonight, Ashton seems to pick up on precisely what he needs. It takes an enormous amount of willpower to tug Troye back up to his level, parting his lips with his tongue as he pushes Troye's shirt off his shoulders and runs his hands down his bare arms. Where Ash is huge, all muscle and tanned skin, Troye is lithe, pale, slim, and yet they're both—

“Gorgeous,” Luke tells them, his stubble rough against Troye's cheek. “You're one to talk,” Troye says, turning his head to capture Luke’s lips in a chaste kiss. He feels the bed dip as Ashton joins them, stripped down to his boxers; Luke lost his shirt somewhere along the way and Troye can’t decide where to look, who to touch. The hair on Luke's chest, the curve of Ashton's ass, their hands on him, on each other: he _wants_ , trying to find the words to articulate what.

Then Luke and Ashton are kissing, and Troye can't look away.

There's a familiarity in it, and yet Troye couldn't say whether they'd done this before or if years on the road together had just made this, like so many other things, seem as natural as breathing to them. How do you spend years upon years in such close proximity to someone without it seeming like an eventuality, an inevitability; without them becoming a part of you, in a way? Troye’s almost jealous—not of either of them, not really, but of that intimacy that's impossible to replicate, to truly understand outside of their group, the lives they've lived together. (He wonders, distantly, what Calum and Michael are up to tonight.)

Luke is smiling against Ashton's mouth, Ashton's fingers curled loosely around the back of his neck. Luke wraps a leg around Ashton’s thigh as though he hardly realizes what he’s doing ( _legs for days,_ Troye thinks, not for the first time); their kiss turns deeper, messy, and as Troye catches a flash of Ashton's tongue between Luke's lips he lets out a soft moan, involuntary, pressing a hand between his legs to quell the arousal sparking in his veins.

It's only when Ashton pulls away from Luke that Troye realizes they heard him, a blush once again rising in his cheeks. “You didn't think we'd forgotten you, did you?” Ashton asks, teasing once more, and Troye shrugs. “I didn't mind the view.”

“I can see that,” Ash comments, his gaze so deliberate as it falls upon Troye's hand that it feels like a caress. Troye shivers and Luke leans forward to undo his pants and help him tug them off, no more waiting, no more holding back. Luke bites his lip as he gets Troye down to his boxers and turns away to make quick work of his own pants, discarding them unceremoniously beside the bed. They're all on equal footing now, though it's clear who's in charge.

“So. Troye.” Ashton doesn't need to complete the question.

“When you say _anything…_ ”

Ashton chuckles. Troye could fall in love with that sound. “Within reason.”

They're all facing one another, not quite touching but close enough that they can feel the heat from each other's bodies. They must look absurd, stripped down to their underwear, hard, limbs trembling as each of them tries to keep their hands off the others. Troye breaks first, fingers curling around the bare skin of Luke's thigh as he leans in to kiss him, murmur against his lips: “I want you in my mouth.” To Ashton, knuckles skimming over his knee, up to the bulge in his briefs, lips against his jawline: “And I’d like for you to fuck me.”

Needless to say, neither of them has any complaints.

Troye finds himself on his back, Ashton’s hand between his legs; his fingers are slick with lube, a small bottle abandoned on the bed beside them. Ashton teases at Troye’s entrance, not pushing inside just yet, as Troye’s cock leaks untouched against his stomach. Luke and Troye are kissing, Troye’s shoulders relaxing even as his thighs tense, until Ashton laces his clean hand into Luke’s hair to pull him away. Luke’s about to protest when he catches Ashton’s eye, the direction of his glance, and understands. He brushes a kiss across Troye’s chest, his hair falling around his face, though Troye catches a glimpse of his smirk as he slips lower.

Luke licks from the base of Troye’s cock to the tip just as Ashton’s finger breaches his entrance, a careful but insistent pressure between his legs. Troye gasps and arches up, Ashton’s finger slipping deeper as he does so. Luke lifts his head just enough to take Troye’s cock between his lips as Ashton adds another finger beside the first, sliding them nearly out and back in again, seeking the spot that has Troye’s hips lifting off the bed, moaning brokenly. He feels as good as Troye had anticipated—better, even, his fingers thick, long, just rough enough and the rhythm of his hand ( _fuck, of course_ ) resolute. And then there’s Luke’s mouth, hot and wet around his neglected cock, not taking him in all the way but sucking expertly on the upstroke, dragging Troye to the edge and keeping him there.

One of Troye’s hands curls in the bedsheets, the other around Ashton’s bicep, gripping nearly hard enough to bruise. Ashton grins and leans down to kiss his open mouth, the shift in his position leaving Troye panting. “Could you come like this?” Ashton asks, and there’s no question. Troye nods, trying not to imagine what he looks like, desperate and open as Luke’s head bobs in his lap. Ash twists his fingers, savoring Troye’s moan, considering, then asks, “Can you come twice?”

Troye is too far gone to imagine a world in which the answer to that question is anything other than _yes, fuck yes, please._ The words spill from his lips before he can stop to think, but he doesn’t regret them for a moment. Ashton redoubles his efforts, working a third finger inside, as Luke’s lips curve around Troye’s cock. Ashton’s free hand reaches up to encircle Troye’s wrist, pinning it to the bed as he nudges his knee against Troye’s thigh, spreading his legs further apart.

Caught between Ash’s hands and Luke’s mouth with nothing to hold him back, it’s a matter of minutes, moments until Troye is coming, barely managing to gasp out a warning before he spills into Luke’s mouth. Luke swallows it all—all but a streak that lands across his lower lip as he pulls back, mouth shining when he lifts his head. Ashton takes Luke’s chin in his hand before he can make a move to wipe it away, swiping his tongue across his lower lip and licking into his mouth. Troye moans at the sight and clenches around the loss of Ashton’s fingers, fucked out but already desperate for more.

Luke turns to Troye when Ashton releases him, leaning in for a kiss. He hesitates with his breath ghosting over Troye’s lips, glancing between his eyes and his mouth as if asking _is this okay_ , as if this is somehow the moment Troye is going to change his mind about this, about them. Troye seals his lips to Luke’s, tasting himself, tasting Ashton, still trembling with his release but even more with anticipation.

“Are you ready for my cock?” Ashton asks when they part, so straightforward that Troye could kiss him. “Yes,” he breathes and is rewarded with that kiss after all, Ashton’s fingers wiped clean and carding through his hair, not quite tugging but undoubtedly tempted. “How about Luke’s?” Troye nods, licks his lips, and Ashton just barely laughs, the sound somehow equal parts desire, satisfaction, desperation. “Good,” he murmurs, pressing his lips to Troye’s collar and stroking his hands (those _fucking_ hands) down his sides. A shiver goes through Troye at his praise. He’s not hard again, not yet, but his cock stirs against his thigh and he knows it’s only a matter of time.

“How do you want me?” he asks, going more than willingly as Ashton turns him over, tugging him up onto his hands and knees. Ash’s hands trail from his shoulderblades down to the small of his back before letting him go to reach for a condom and the lube once more. Luke is there to take his place: he kneels in front of Troye instead, lifting his chin with long fingers, his thumb catching on Troye’s lower lip. Troye dips his head to take the tip of his thumb between his teeth, tongue dragging deliberately across his skin, trying not to look too pleased when Luke’s breath hitches in his throat. He tugs his hand away and reaches for Troye’s sensitive cock instead, stroking until it begins to swell in his grip. He releases him a moment later, leaning down to offer Troye a kiss that’s more of a bite before pulling back, fingers curling around the base of his own dick.

Then one of Ashton’s hands is back on Troye’s shoulder, the other positioning his cock against his entrance. Troye breathes, relaxes, tenses as he pushes in, but he’s grateful when Ashton doesn’t stop, sinks into him until he can’t go any deeper, until his hips are pressed flush to the curve of Troye’s ass. He pauses almost long enough for Troye to adjust, drawing back and thrusting in shallowly, leaning down to press an open-mouthed kiss to the back of Troye’s neck. Troye moans and reaches out blindly for Luke, fingers curling around his hip as he drags him forward, not wanting to lose himself entirely in the sensation of Ashton’s thick cock stretching him open—at least, not yet.

Luke steadies himself with a hand in Troye’s hair as Troye’s mouth opens around his cock, sucking at the head, his tongue pressed to the underside. Ashton’s thrusts push him further forward and Troye has to pull back to breathe, but only for a moment. His lips part again and Luke takes his cue, sliding his cock into Troye’s mouth once more. Troye leans in at the same moment, taking him in to the root, eyes falling shut in contentment as Luke groans above him. “Shit,” Ashton murmurs, his hips stuttering as he watches them, and Troye moans, the sound muffled around Luke’s cock.

Troye presses back against Ashton, once again caught between the two of them, properly overwhelmed this time. He’s hard against his thigh but doesn’t dare reach down to touch himself, focused instead on making Luke and Ashton come. He feels used, a little bit filthy, in a way that only makes him want more, makes him take Luke’s cock deeper than he should, clutch his fingers in the sheets and roll his hips back, loving every noise that falls from Ashton’s lips as his thrusts grow faster.

Ashton’s moans are intoxicating but Luke’s are another level of desperate, his fingers tightening in Troye’s curls, and Troye can tell he’s close. Ashton seems to sense it too, easing off just enough for Troye to set his own pace, mouth sinking low around Luke’s dick. It’s not until Ash angles his hips just so, his cock dragging deliberately across Troye’s prostate once, twice, that Troye moans around Luke again, deep in his throat, losing some of his finesse as he lets Luke feel it too, how Ashton is taking him, both of them, apart. Luke curses, his thighs trembling beneath Troye’s hands, his mouth. He moans a half-coherent warning moments before he comes, but Troye isn’t going anywhere. He swallows around Luke’s cock until he pulls back, overstimulated, pushing his hair out of his face with an unsteady hand as he collapses onto the bed beside Ash and Troye. 

He's breathing hard, eyes shut, and Troye follows suit, dropping his head down to the cool sheets as Ashton picks up his pace again, those impossibly broad hands settling on Troye's waist. Troye arches his back, a silent plea for more, and is rewarded with a particularly deep thrust, a new angle that has him sinking his fingers into the sheets once more. He and Ashton moan nearly in unison and a chuckle beside them betrays that there's still some life in Luke yet, one blue eye opening and then the other, a blissed-out smile tugging at his lips as he watches them together.

He reaches out after a moment to wrap his fingers around Troye's cock: not teasing this time, but working him steadily, his gaze flickering between Troye’s face and Ashton’s hips. “Not yet,” Ashton protests, but it’s half-hearted at best, the words nearly lost amidst the moans he can’t quite hold back. “So you _don’t_ want to be inside him when he comes?” Luke asks, tone flat: it’s not a question. His attention turns elsewhere. “Troye?” Nothing more than his name, but this time, he’s asking.

“Don’t you dare stop,” Troye tells Ashton, tells Luke, reaching behind him to curl his fingers around the back of Ashton’s thigh. Ash huffs out a laugh, his thumb stroking across Troye’s hip like that’s all the response he can manage at the moment. It’s the perfect counterpoint to his unfaltering thrusts, and Troye’s breath catches in his throat, marveling at how close he is, again, already. Luke’s thumb drags across the head of his cock, precome spreading from the tip to the base, and Ashton tugs Troye’s wrist away from its place on his thigh, pinning it instead to the small of Troye’s back. He holds him there as his hips drive forward, but it’s only when he leans down to nip at the skin just behind Troye’s ear, murmur, “Go on,” that Troye lets himself come, his hips stuttering into Luke’s hand. He coats Luke’s fingers, the sheets beneath them, and finds himself still quaking when Ashton’s grip tightens on his wrist, his precise rhythm finally shattered as he comes, spilling into the condom with a long, low moan. 

Troye feels boneless, exhausted, shifting just enough to avoid the wet spot as he slumps onto the sheets. Ashton follows, pulling out carefully but not moving away, and Troye finds he doesn’t mind the weight of Ashton’s body on his, one of those huge arms draped across his chest. Luke joins them, his hair tickling Troye’s cheek as he ducks his head, curling in close, his legs winding their way over, between Troye’s. Ashton’s breathing gradually slows, Troye’s racing heart following suit, satisfaction settling bone deep within him.

Ash twists away for just a moment, managing to deposit the condom in the wastebasket beside the bed without disturbing the others. He presses a kiss to the sweat-slick skin of Troye’s shoulder as he turns back, pulling them both closer, fingers stroking absentmindedly down the curve of Luke's spine.

 _I should go,_ Troye thinks, his eyelids heavy. _I should…_

“Stay as long as you like,” Ashton yawns, his voice sounding far away, his timing perfect as ever. Luke mutters something incoherent against Troye’s neck and Troye offers a murmur of assent in return. He’ll just shut his eyes for a moment. Just for a moment…

They’re asleep before they realize it, messy and sated, a tangle of limbs that will leave a distant chorus echoing in Troye’s mind when he wakes, disbelieving, delighted: _how did we end up here?_


End file.
